Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (130 page)

“So let us consider an attack overland,” suggested another courtier - one of Count Salgo’s, men she recalled.  

“And lay siege to a fortress that has withstood all that Castal could bring to bear against it for
two years?
” snorted Lawfather Jodas.  “I am no military man, either, but even I can see that attacking that place with anything less than a dragon and a couple of armies is going to be an exercise in futility.”  

The massive fortress complex that guarded the only real passage between Southern Alshar and the rest of the continent was firmly in rebel hands, it was known.  The huge sandstone castle was nearly impregnable, partially underground, and had never fallen to a foe, though the Castali had besieged it more than once.  

“Neither can Rard,” pointed out Terleman.  “Not without beggaring the kingdom to do it.  Worrying about a race that no one can win is what is futile.”

“What was the crown’s statement about the kidnapping?” asked Angrial, with interest.

“Oh, Rard is beside himself with anger,” the old monk reported, glancing at the scrap of parchment in his hand.  “He’s vowed revenge in the worst possible way against the pirates of Enultramar and their Farisian confederates.  And he has offered the two vacant baronies in Gilmora and her weight in gold to the man who rescues his darling daughter from her fate.”  

There was no doubt in his tone what Father Amus’ opinion of the princess was, nor what should be done about her.  He had suffered with her cloying oversight of Duke Anguin for three years, back in Castal, and he had a loathing for the girl that few priests could muster.

But then, Pentandra reflected, Princess Rardine seemed to be able to inspire that kind of reaction in the people she was around.  She almost felt sorry for the poor kidnappers who must have felt that her capture was a boon from the gods.  After a few days with her, Pentandra wasn’t certain she’d make it off of the boat.

“While that’s unfortunate,” Angrial agreed, “it does mean that we can enjoy a lesser amount of scrutiny by the crown this fall.  Shall we cancel some of the entertainments?  That would save money,” he reminded everyone.

“Not the tournament,” Pentandra insisted.  “It’s supposed to take place in just a few days!  There are already plenty of contestants who have traveled for weeks to get here for Anguin’s inaugural tourney.  It would be unfair to them and the folk of Vorone to cancel it,” she proposed.  “And such things are exceedingly popular amongst the Wilderlords.”

“The first wagers have already been placed,” added Sister Saltia, whose order was in charge of overseeing the gaming at the tournament.  “It would be blasphemous to cancel the event without just cause.”

The reedy prime minister considered the points.  “The money on preparation has already been spent, and the prize purse is miniscule, compared to that,” he reasoned.  “Let the entertainment go on, then.  Besides, His Grace is far more fond of watching jousting than doing it,” he reminded everyone.  

Pentandra was pleased.  Of all the parts of her plan to go wrong, that one would have been catastrophic.

*

*

*

Arborn had to make a quick trip to the west, but had returned within a few days no worse for wear.  He had no interest in jousting, of course - mounted warfare was not exactly foreign to the Kasari, but they saw little use in fighting an enemy in such a formalized manner.  

But the spectacle of the event was enough to charm the boy out of any tough Kasari veteran.  The town filled up with visitors from as far away as Tudry and Wilderhall, competing with the bumper crop of mercenaries now prowling Vorone in service to the duke for lodging.  Even with a third of the mercenaries leaving for their cantonments, there were still plenty of tough veterans around to keep attendance at the tournament high, despite the lack of a princess (or perhaps because of the lack).  While the highly stylized contest was far from the brutal and gritty reality of war, even the mercenaries had favorite jousters, and plenty had grown up learning the listfield themselves.  

Without Rardine attending, of course, the event went off without much friction.  Anguin arrived from the field in time for the second bout, and went directly to his box to watch a few passes before retiring to the palace, a Maiden on each arm.    

Pentandra caught up with him just as he was leaving, in the company of Count Salgo and a few of his gentlemen.  She was even more gratified to see Lady Pleasure, beaming at the world in a bright yellow gown that made her blonde hair seem even more sparkly than usual.  

The madame had an entourage of four Maidens, plus her long-suffering bucktoothed assistant, Elspeth; the Maidens were, of course, smiling sweetly at everyone, though the clerk seemed as if she were headed for the dungeons, the sour way she acted.  Lady Pleasure
- Ishi
- was speaking in an animated fashion with the Duke and Salgo about the grandeur of the joust when Pentandra caught up with them.

That was Pentandra’s cue.  She used her link to Terleman to summon him to her, mind-to-mind.  Ten minutes later he appeared out of the crowd, black mantle trailing behind him, black hair combed neatly to one side.  He was leading someone else - a knight in his early twenties Pentandra had never seen before.  Of course, he did bear a striking resemblance to someone else.

“How are you enjoying the entertainments, Your Grace?” she asked, ignoring Lady Pleasure’s presence for the moment.  The goddess hidden in the body of an aging madame glared at her, but let her proceed while she fanned her face in the summer heat.

“I . . . well, ‘tis better than the goblins’ entertainments,” he conceded.  “We came upon one of their . . . displays on our way to the raid.  Over twenty people, flayed alive and then posed in death as if they were all dining at an inn.  It was horrific,” he grunted softly.

“How
ghastly!
” Lady Pleasure said, hiding her face behind her fan with false modesty.  “How are you enjoying the joust, my lady?”

“Oh, I don’t follow it, the same way some do,” she agreed.  “Indeed, some of my friends are devoted to the sport and know every major jouster on the circuit,” she bragged.  “I thought you might meet one of them, Your Grace,” she added.  “He has a
particular
desire to meet you.”

“Meet me?  Why?” the teenaged duke asked, puzzled.  He watched the knight -- in his early 20s, with a shock of shaggy golden hair that was starting to fade as his hairline retreated, and wearing the battered armor of a professional jouster.

“Because he’s . . . . he’s
family,
” Pentandra blurted out, as the tall man in the battered steel mail approached.  “Your Grace, may I present Sir Gydion of Astafon,” she announced, standing out of the way so that the tall knight could make a properly gracious bow to a man of such rank.  “He is a professional jouster from the south, of late on the circuit in southern Castal,” she explained.  “When you took your place here, I felt it might be helpful if you could have someone you could rely upon personally, besides Father Amus.  Sir Gydion, may I present His Grace, Anguin II, Duke of Alshar.  Oh, and Baroness Amandice, late of court,” she added, casually.

Both Lady Pleasure and Sir Gydion started at the same time.  Both sets of eyes opened wide, and Lady Pleasure’s mouth fell open, she was so stunned.

“Mother?”
Sir Gydion demanded, pulling the madame by her shoulders to face him.  “Is that
you?”

“I . . .
yes,
” she finally admitted, defeated.  “Yes, my boy . . . my
very
big boy . . . it is me.”

“You?”
Anguin asked.  It was his turn for his eyes to go wide.  “You are
his
mother?  Why, he’s older than
I
am!” he chortled.

Lady Pleasure whirled around and shot an evil glance in Pentandra’s direction.  If that was the only thanks she would receive for the evening’s work, she reflected, she counted herself satisfied.  When the hidden goddess turned back to the duke . . . her face was aged.  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Gydion,” Anguin said, formally.  

“Likewise, Your Grace,” the confused professional jouster replied.  

Pentandra felt sorry about that - she had gotten Planus to extend a mysterious invitation to the man to come to Alshar for Anguin’s inaugural tournament, along with a large enough purse to get him here.  From what she understood, Sir Gydion was a competent but uninspired jouster.  He had turned his big frame and his hereditary skills into a decent living, but he was far from one of the favored contestants in the tournaments he participated in.  

“While I am of course honored to meet you - in the company of my mother, no less - I confess I have not the
slightest
idea why I am here,” he declared.

“Why, it is simple, Sir Gydion,” Pentandra said to the knight, pleasantly.  “I did some research when I arrived, and discovered a record of a long-lost bastard Duke Lenguin produced in his youth,” she explained.  “The ducal house
naturally
covered it up - it isn’t as if hadn’t happened before - and buried all record of the birth in order to shore up His Grace’s new son’s claim to the coronet.  But I managed to track him down -- track
you
down,” she explained.

“My . . . my father was a
duke?”
asked the knight, astonished.

“I have a
brother?”
Anguin asked, even more astonished.

“Indeed,” Pentandra said, smoothly answering both questions.  “Sir Gydion was sent into exile to keep him from being used as a tool of your family’s enemies, and remained all but forgotten.  Luckily,” she said, looking at Ishi, “not every record of your birth and disposition was destroyed.  So I thought that, in the absence of other reliable family, perhaps His Grace could come to count on you as a loyal retainer,” she suggested.

“That’s . . .
amazing!
” Anguin said, beaming.  “I have a brother!”

“
Half
-brother,” Lady Pleasure reminded him, wincing and trying to smile at the same time.             

“That’s more brother than I had this morning,” Anguin dismissed.  “Come!  Have a cup with me and my gentlemen, Sir Gydion, and let us get to know each other!”  He pulled the awkward-looking knight into the center of his knot of courtiers, and soon they were headed to the reviewing stands to oversee the next bout.  

Lady Pleasure stayed behind, as Pentandra thought she might.  She was not as cheery as Pentandra had thought.

“You manipulative
bitch!
” snarled the goddess through the baroness’ lips.  “How
dare
you interfere with my plans!”

“It’s my
job
to interfere with your plans!” she riposted.  “I’m the duchy’s
Court Wizard.
 I’m
supposed
to protect and support the duke.  I’ve given him an absolutely loyal bodyguard and a confidant he has always wanted but never had.”

“Effectively taking him out of my sway!” barked the madame.  

“That was, indeed, the intention,” Pentandra said, coolly.  “I got the idea from my castellan, of all people.  Bircei once told me that nothing can embarrass a woman like her own child.  It seemed unfair for you not to enjoy that particular bit of motherhood.”

The word seemed to drive Ishi into rage.  “You wish to
embarrass
me?  I’ve done things so wicked--”

“Oh, yes, I know,” Pentandra said, stopping her before the woman could get too graphic in a public place.  “I could never hope to dislodge you from court by spreading
scandal.
 That would merely feed your agenda.  And your ego.  A rumor that you were had by six guardsmen and got buggered in the buttery would only
add
to your sordid reputation . . . and win the admiration of the men of the court,” she added.  “I admit, I was perplexed for weeks:
how does one embarrass a goddess so badly that she leaves someplace she’s comfortable in?
 Someplace where she’s planned and plotted to control?